


Fluidity of Choice

by Still_Not_King



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Demisexual Crowley, Genderfluid Character, Genderswap, M/M, Talking about sexual situations, clueless Aziraphale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-27 06:03:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19784761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Still_Not_King/pseuds/Still_Not_King
Summary: Aziraphale blinked. Then he blinked several times more. “Wh-How… I’m sorry. You, you, why are you always a man when I see you?”This inspired one of those soft, fond smiles the angel had always so secretly loved receiving.“Oh, angel. I wasn’t.”This was news.“I’m sorry??”Basically, Crowley has spent the last 6 millennia treating gender like a particularly fashionable outfit and Aziraphale just... never...really... noticed?





	Fluidity of Choice

**Author's Note:**

> A plot bunny I couldn't shake after I lost the last chap of a WIP and decided I needed a break from Stucky :-)
> 
> Just a warning: Crowley talks about sex here in by no means a non-con context, but more of an it's-his-job-and-he's-not-super-into-it kind of way. So if you're squicky about that, here's your parachute :-)
> 
> Basically I just love Literally Genderfluid Crowley

“but...WHY?”

Crowley looked scandalized. (He also looked drunk, and very relaxed, and like he was about three degrees from spilling what was left of his rather delightful 1973 Mondavi Pino Noir on the carpet.)

Aziraphale sniffed and ran his hands over the thighs of his trousers to rid himself of non-existent wrinkles. “Why? Whyever not? They make the pants fit better by a long shot, always have.” Crowley raised a skeptical eyebrow. The angel pursed his lips and glared. “Besides, after the whole nephelim debacle, Heaven made the bodies immutable… when we make the effort anyway.” He waved his hand like he was trying to dismiss the entire conversation like a particularly bothersome fruit fly. “We had to pick a gender when they were assigned, and we had to request changes, in writing, in advance, and be discoroporated to boot for any changes! It’s a rather unfortunate amount of paperwork, honestly. And I’ve kept this body in rather good shape, I think, for having it as long as I have.”

The demon, sprawled across the arm of the sofa, tipped his wine glass in a faux-cheers. “Aye, so there’s the rub. You had to pick one. That’s ‘nigh on tragic.” He sipped, then languorously removed his sunglasses, spinning them around his finger aimlessly. “Figures you’d go for a male body. You angels always did love you Adam more than you cared for Eve.” He angled his head quickly towards the ceiling. “Sorry ‘bout that, luv,” he mumbled softly. Aziraphale hid a fond smile by taking another drink from his own nearly-empty glass before putting on his Official Heaven-Ordained Pedant expression.

“Now see here, caring for Adam or Eve more or less had _nothing_ to do with it. Final word came down about the time the Romans finished their terrible business with the Christ.” He took another sip, and this time he was the one frowning. “As much as I hate to say it, the choice was mostly driven by ready access. I had more freedom in a male body. More autonomy. It allowed a freedom of movement I wouldn’t have been allowed in a female form, lovely as they may be. Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to have changed too terribly much-”

“Lovely as they- Do you hear yourself?” Crowley snorted, amused. “Have you ever _been_ a female, Aziraphale? Because you talk like you don’t have an inkling!”

“Well, I mean.. I suppose… Technically…uh...,” the angel was sputtering and Crowley interrupted with a laugh. 

“Technically, my aunt.” He shook his head in amused disbelief and tipped the rest of the wine in his glass down his throat. “You’ve always preferred the company of men, Aziraphale, don’t deny it. You with your Roman restaurants and your gentleman’s clubs and your small-but-closely-knit-band-of-knights. And don’t get me _started_ on all the 15th century theater, angel.” He glared at his empty glass, then reached a seemingly impossible distance without leaving the sofa to deposit his sunglasses and stemware on a side table. He pointed an accusing finger at the man seated across from him. “You. Like. Being. Male.” He gestured obliquely to the angel’s lower half. “And that’s why you’re attached to _that_ permanent nonsense.”

Aziraphale was certain there was some gap in the demon’s argument, but he was having trouble parsing it. Besides, it wasn’t like Crowley wasn’t sitting there across from him, all lean lines and masculine cheekbones and short, stylishly-tousled hair. “Now, well, what about _you_?” he retorted hotly, refilling his glass and reaching out to refill his companion’s. Crowley grabbed his replenished drink. 

“What about me?”

The angel gestured to, well, all of him. “What about - Look at yourself, Crowley! All…all… What’s the saying? Tall, dark, and handsome? Masculine lines and, and, men’s fashion. You’ve presented yourself as a man the entirety of the time we’ve known one another.”

The demon reeled back, shocked. “I was a _female bloody nanny_ for a DECADE, angel!”

Oh yes. He’d forgotten about that… though the half-up style Crowley had worn his girlishly-long hair in when not ‘on duty’ had been rather fetching. What had he called it, a “man-bun?” He blinked, returning to the conversation at hand. “Ah. Well, I mean… you know. While not on assignment.” Yes. Excellent recovery.

Crowley shook his head and sighed, diving back into the wine. “You really never realized, did you? Forced to choose a gender and bam, everything’s on a binary.” He tutted. “And the humans wonder why shades of grey are so hard for societies to cotton on to. When even god’s own-”

“Crowley, _what_ are you on about?”

“Angel, I’ve done the whole human thing as a woman, gosh…” yellow, slitted eyes unfocused as he did maths in his head. Then on his fingers. One hand, then the other, then back again. (This was taking rather longer than Aziraphale had anticipated).

“Crowl-”

“Seventeen-hundred years, give or take about… sixty,” he finally announced with a flourish.

Aliraphale blinked, uncomprehending. “I’m sorry, dear… what?’

Crowley grinned. It was a feral thing, more challenge than kind, but amusement still twinkled around the edges. “About seventeen-hundred years out of six thousand, wandering around as either ‘that thing,’ or a female,” he clarified. He sipped his drink, lazing back against the cushion again. “Though, to be fair, I was really only ‘that thing’ while on assignment as well. And that was really only in the _very_ beginning, back when ‘oohh, be afraid of the dark’ and ‘ooohhhh there are creatures of the night’ was in vogue. But yeah, spent about a thousand years, on an’ off, before me an’ Jesus’ whirlwind adventures… he didn’t mind being shown the world by a woman. More interested in the peepers.” He pointed at his yellow eyes and wiggled his fingers. His eyes focused on his own hand and he lost the thread a bit. “Surprisingly progressive, that one. Had some hope when the new bits started to catch on, more rights for women... Fat load of bollocks that turned out to be, bloody Constantine… bloody Council of Nicea...” He muttered bitterly into his wine, then remembered himself, blinking. “Besides, lotsa opportunities for a well-placed lady to start some trouble. ‘Specially back ‘round Sparta. And the Etruscians, yow.” He took another sip of his wine, eyes unfocused like he was reliving some fond but distant memories. “Didn’t do much as a female after we both got sent to this forsaken island, ‘cept a little Druidic priestess business for a year or two - satan, you remember how awful and backwater London was when we got here?”

Aziraphale smiled and nodded in shared memory of the misery. It really had been nothing but drafty, damp forts and the occasional solstace festival for entertainment for a good many years. As an angel, he was supposed to be doing his best to convert the locals, but their rituals had been so very fascinating, and their food so very good. (It didn’t hurt that Crowley showed up with the festivals like clockwork four times a year). After the island had been abandoned by Rome, he’d never had the heart to push conversion faster than it was already going, what with the Norse and other troubles. He had half a mind to derail the conversation and begin waxing poetic about how delighted he’d been when he realized Crowley had chosed to take up in London and not Edinburgh, but the demon was already moved on. 

“Did a stint moonlighting as a lady after your fit about the water… long story.” he added in a way that made Aziraphale feel distinctly that is was _not_ a long story and more likely was a _very_ short story that started with “So Aziraphale wouldn’t speak to me, so…”

“Those Victorians sure loved their shame. Kinda took the fun out of it pretty quick, actually…” The demon looked down at himself, sighing a bit wistfully. “Got tired of it pretty quick. Just wasn’t feelin’ it, so to speak… so that’s probably the most recent. Until my Nanny McPhee stint, of course.”

Aziraphale blinked. Then blinked again. “I always thought of you more as a Mary Poppins type,” he deflected with a wan smile while he processed. He blinked several times more. “Wh-How… I’m sorry. You, you, why are you _always_ a man when _I_ see you?”

This inspired one of those soft, fond smiles the angel had always so secretly loved receiving. (He was a lot less conflicted about basking in the feelings they gave him nowadays). “Oh, angel. I wasn’t.”

This was news.

“I’m sorry??”

Crowley looked like he wanted to laugh, but instead chose to explain like he was talking to a child. “The world saw me as a female human near-all the times you and I met through ‘til we both ended up on this bloody island.” He smiled patiently. The angel couldn’t help thinking it was a good look. “Save maybe that week or two I popped down to Rome, I’d been mostly female for near a thousand years. First time I see you as a male and… I mean, well.” He trailed off, making slightly awkward sounds with his mouth that didn’t really translate into words. “I mean… if… Y’see, you’d _never_ seemed that interested in, in spending any time… before, I mean...” He waved his hand like he was brushing away errant thoughts. “Bloody oysters,” he mumbled into his wine glass, taking another sip. He sighed a little through his nose, and reset. “After we met in Rome, well - I never really showed up in women’s clothes after that when I knew we were meeting. For, y’know... reasons. _Discretionary_ reasons.” He glared, daring Aziraphale to read too much into things. “Wouldn’t have done to draw attention to an angel spending unsupervised time with a demon-lady.” Then he winked lasciviously. “Sides, I know you like the look of me like this better. And I wear whatever I like. Men’s fashion and women’s fashion has gotten so wonderfully mixed up the last hundred years. It’s brilliant!” The demon finally finished his slow melt into the couch so he was officially lounging across its entirety. “I could bloody well wear a skirt out nowadays and only get a couple side-looks… ‘specially with the shades. Cor, I haven’t worn one of those in ages. I wonder if the long ones are due to come back in into fashion soon…”

Aziraphale stuttered, unable to formulate an articulate response as the mental image of Crowley in a flowing bohemian skirt suddenly demanded most of his attention. Yellow eyes stared at the ceiling, flirtation - and possibly the fact that he had a companion at all - apparently forgotten, as he swirled the liquid in his glass. “It’s really just the hair and some different clothes, maybe miracle away some facial hair. There’s startlingly little biological difference, even the bits are basically the same but inside-out. That’s when I bother with that part at all.” He made a face. “Gooey. And terribly in the way, particularly with men’s pants as tight as they are lately. And don’t get me started on women’s pants. Honestly, not terribly worth the effort unless you’re actively… y’know… using ‘em. And even then...” He gestured obliquely and tapered off, seemingly coming to understand what _exactly_ he was rambling on about and choosing that moment to sit up and become studiously interested in the legs of his wine.

"Not worth it?" Aziraphale felt like he should possibly sober up a bit if the conversation was going to cant in this direction. Or, possibly, be infinitely more drunk. He allowed himself to observe Crowley, eyes sliding from his boots (were those snakeskin? Cheeky.) up long, lean legs wrapped in unreasonably tight jeans, over an equally lean torso and down his arms which were stronger, obviously, than they looked. He landed on the demon's hands - he was playing idyly with the stem of the wine glass and oh, Aziraphale could stare at those clever fingers for hours. Not worth it - lord almighty, Aziraphale had never disagreed with a statement more. How could it possibly… wait. He shook himself. "My dear, do you mean to tell me you've experienced, erm… knowing someone in the _biblical_ sense and found it… disagreeable?" 

Crowley glanced a bit longingly at his sunglasses, out of reach without making it obvious he was hiding, and chewed subtly on the inside of his lip. He shrugged, aiming for casual and missing by about 4 minutes of conversation. "I mean, yah? S'not like I was… I mean it's the job, right? I avoid it when I can, but sometimes it's inevitable. Or, y'know." He smiled, a bit more genuine. "Sometimes it's worth the getting someone else off for the stuff before and after. That bit's grand isn't it? I mean, if you can manage it."

Now it was Aziraphale's turn to be scandalized. (He was slowly but surely sobering up, Crowley's implications bubbling up a confusing cocktail of emotions he wasn't prepared to address drunkenly). "Crowley. My dear, do you mean to say you've _tempted_ humans into your bed?"

The demon shrugged again, but there was a dejected set to his shoulders. "Only when I got in Real trouble with Head Office and had to do something… y'know. Evil. Dastardly. Easy to spin having a good time with someone who would’ve done it anyway as a win for Downstairs. It wasn't the worst way to get back in hell's good graces. 'Sides, I'm damn good at it, even if it’s kinda boring. Well, maybe not good at… y’know… IT. But the bits before and after? I’m tops at that stuff. Worth it to get that little bit.” He sounded a bit wistful, and Aziraphale wracked his brain for what his companion might mean. Wait…

“Crowley,” he began seriously. “Do you mean to say you would periodically take humans to bed… for the, the, the _cuddling_ after?”

“Oi!” The demon’s temper flared and he pointed seriously. “Don’t call it that. It’s.. it’s… uh.” He wilted a bit, floundering, then pointed again. “It’s foreplay. And. And… post-coital cultivation of guilt. Yeah. That’s what it is.” He sipped his wine. “I mean, that’s where most of the guilt comes from anyway. Especially when it’s a man thinkin’ he’s somehow spoilt somemat.” He smiled again, showy and brittle. “It was never really who… I mean, I always sorta settled, of course. But it was a means to an end. Better than bein’ recalled, aye?”

"SETTLED?"

Crowley had the nerve to scoff at Aziraphale's expression. (To be fair, it was a hilarious cross between horror and scandal. All he was missing was a pearl necklace to clutch). "Don't get your feathers on a twist, angel. It's not like my ideal partner for these kinds of things was ever available."

“Ideal… I’m sorry?”

Crowley rolled his serpentine eyes and flopped back on the couch. “Nothin’ personal, angel! Don’t be so scandalized. I _am_ a demon, after all?”

Aziraphale was still reeling from the tacit admission that Crowley allowed himself to be seduced by potential sinners in exchange for the physical affection he experienced before and after the act. Suddenly, sitting across from one another in even such a small room as the bookshop’s office was simply unacceptable. The angel rose abruptly, swaying as the last bit of his tipsy dissapated, and walked over to insinuate himself quite comfortably next to the demon on the sofa. He gestured for the demon to lift his head, sat, and used a gentle\ hand on Crowley’s chest to encourage him to lay back down, using Aziraphale’s leg as a makeshift pillow.

For his part, Crowley watched the angel's progress with a kind of fond, confused vulnerability writ large across his unguarded face. He followed the angel's gentle direction and settled comfortably on Aziraphale's lap. Taking a breath, he let it out and unfurled into a relaxed, wondering puddle of hesitant contentment, staring all the while at the angel's face for signs he was unwelcome.

“How now, angel?” the demon asked, half a smile pulling at the side of his mouth.

Aziraphale smiled back. “Quite a bit more comfortable like this, to be honest.” His hand moved towards Crowley’s hair, then paused. “May I?”

With a quick, wide-eyed nod, Crowley assented. The angel’s hand carded gently through the shortish red hair, and golden eyes rolled up into his head with a quickly-smothered noise of utter contentment. If Aziraphale hadn’t known his companion’s true form was a snake, he’d have accused the demon of purring. He smiled down at the open face in his lap, uncovered eyes watching him carefully, but slowly being lulled to half-closed by the soothing repetition of fingers through hair.

“You know,” the angel mused quietly, “I’ve never been so concerned about _not_ touching a being as I have been with you. I must say, I apologize for it taking this long for me to realize…”

“Mmmm, s’fine angel. This issss… you’re…” Crowley was apparently out of words and reached up and patted the angel’s arm comfortingly, sighing contentedly. “Ssssss’a new world us two’ve got now. Everything before’ssss water under the… the… whatever water’s under.” He pressed unconsciously into Aziraphale, adapting easily to this change in their interactions and unconsciously chasing warmth.

“Still,” continued the angel, slightly discomfited. There was silence for a minute as he continued playing with the demon’s hair. It was so short. Shorter than it’d ever been, maybe. A thought blossomed in Aziraphale’s mind, suddenly and utterly new. Oh dear. “Dear, you _do_ know that I don’t require your body to be male, don’t you? And I… I do mean in, ah, in _any_ capacity. Or situation. We may find ourselves. In this, this new world of ours.” If angels could blush, he’d be beet red to the tips of his ears at his own insinuation. 

Crowley, for his part, blinked his eyes open, squinting, and a furrow formed between his eyebrows. It eased nearly as quickly as it had formed, apparently calmed by something in Aziraphale’s bashful reluctance to meet his eyes that even the angel wasn’t aware of. “Noted,” he replied with a forced casualness Aziraphale was eternally grateful for. He paused, settling again deeper into the angel’s lap. “Course, I certainly don’t mind living like a human man. You’re right… it is easier. Especially the last, what… thousand years or so? I’ve gotten used to it, I guess. The type of human I’d be, if I were one… It’s easy to be fluid now, I think that’s what they call it.” He closed his eyes, the alcohol making him sleepy. “I used to think, if I picked a form… if I somehow managed to break away, could keep them from finding me…maybe I’d pick female, but… bah” He trailed off, but he’d peaked the angel’s curiosity.

“You thought about that? I mean, before… all this? Running far enough Hell couldn’t find you?”

“A bit. Only once or twice. The black death, ‘bout 3 years into the Great War, entertained the thought after the whole H.W. debacle… Never really serious.” The demon opened his eyes, focused laser sharp on the angel’s blue for a moment. “Never got past the whole ‘how far’d I have to go’ part, I guess. Couldn’t imagine a life without… well... ” he smiled that same soft smile that’d become so familiar, and Aziraphale felt it in his whole body. Felt the rest of the sentence. _Without you_. But then Crowley blinked and turned his gaze back towards the ceiling. “Couldn’t imagine a place far enough, I suppose.”

The left turn, so close to their destination, was abruptly and infuriatingly unacceptable to the angel. Too much time and too many things he always wanted to say but couldn’t bear to and too many opportunities to lose his demon. His best friend. His _Crowley_ \- in the last month and now they were certain they were finally being left alone and Aziraphale suddenly couldn’t stand it. He traced a gentle finger down the temple of the man-shaped being in his lap, curving gently around the angle of his jaw and brushing gently across his cheekbone. While the familiar carding of fingers through hair could have been read as ambiguous, this was nothing if not the caress of a lover.

“I do love nothing in the world so well as you: is that not strange?” he quoted softly.

Shakespeare. 

One of the funny ones. Surely, he would-

The sharp intake of breath and sudden stiffening of Crowley’s previously pliant form were such unconsciously adopted human affectations the angel nearly burst from sheer affection. His eyes opened, unearthly and golden and so, so beautiful. “Angel…” he looked so very torn, between hesitance and hope, but taking in Aziraphale’s soft smile seemed to calm him. He sighed, sounding nearly put-out, but nuzzled the side of his face delicately into the angel’s warm palm and closed his eyes again. “I confess nothing. Nor I deny nothing. You’ve stayed me in a happy hour. Etcetera.” He smiled. It was a genuine, private thing half against Aziraphale’s palm. “You remembered.”

The angel used the fingers on the hand cradling his serpent’s cheek to scritch the hair behind his ear. “My dear, I don’t think I’d ever heard you laugh that hard before. The experience is practically embossed into my memories”

Crowley’s smile grew, bright and genuine. “Well that’s because you won’t let me take you to the cinema. Also, it was hilarious.”

“I don’t think the bit with Hero’s first wedding was _meant_ to be as amusing as you found it.”

The demon scoffed. “Cor, if it wasn’t supposed to be funny, why was it in one of his _comedies_ , angel? Only pure stupid gets one pulled over on him like that, Claudio’s a jester.” He smiled, obviously somewhere else for a moment. “Beatrice’s the only one with any sense in that play. It’s the women who know what’s what. Smartest one in the room, Beatrice. Wonder who inspired her. It’s brilliant.”

Aziraphale made a neutral noise that meant they’d revisit the point at a later date, and settled down as the demon made himself comfortable. “Do you mean to sleep like this?” he asked conversationally. 

Crowley blinked several times, obviously reluctant to move, but tensed in preparation for sitting up. “Right, sorry… I, uh… I’ll just-”

Aziraphale reached around and put just a bit of pressure back on his chest. More than enough to arrest his half-hearted attempt at getting up. “I was just wondering if I should get a book. Or if you were interested in experimenting this evening.”

“Experimenting?” The genuinely puzzled look on Crowley’s face sent another wash of fondness through the angel. How had he ever kept himself in check before?

“Well… I may not be your _ideal_ partner for previously-alluded to activities, but I’d be more than -”

“Youare!” Crowley was staring at him deer-in-headlights and lips pressed together tightly, apparently having expected his own outburst just as little as Aziraphale. He blinked, that brittle, rictus smile returning for a moment in his attempt to curtail his own panic. “You, ah, always… ugh.” He covered his face with his hands. “Just keep going with what you were saying, angel, but pretend we both knew from the beginning I’ve only ever wanted it to be you and never this particular… let’s just never mention it again.”

Aziraphale was _far_ too pleased with this new tidbit to let it lie forever, but decided to take mercy on his dearest friend. He was an _angel_ after all. “Well,” he continued, a little breathless. “I’m more than available _now_. One might even call me eager to see if I can undermine your theory that the good parts are before and after. If the difference is making l-”

“Don’t.” Crowley’s finger was in front of Aziraphale’s nose before the angel saw him move, despite his serpentine eyes still being closed. The angel tutted.

“I simply believe that joining in love instead of temptation can be something truly divine, aren’t you curious?”

Crowley shrugged. “Eh. ‘M rather enjoying this, honestly.” He flapped his hand strangely, a bit like he’d forgotten how hands worked. “Grab a book, angel. We’ll work up to it.”

“Yes, dear,” Aziraphale replied, smile everpresent in his voice. He picked up the novel he’d started before Crowley had arrived that evening, miraculously just within reach of the sofa, and settled in. Crowley burrowed closer, turning on his side and curling up on himself in a way both child- and snake-like. “Bloody hedonist,” he mumbled against the angel’s leg.

“True,” the angel replied softly. “Though, in case you were concerned, this is absolutely delightful. I adore seeing you like this.”

They both smiled, Crowley turning his head to half-heartedly hide from the affection, and Aziraphale rubbed his back in acknowledgement. 

Crowley fell asleep with Aziraphale’s hand gently playing with his hair, and did not wake up for a good while. Aziraphale had long since finished his book.

  



End file.
